Within you, Without you
by Tomo Trillions
Summary: The long-awaited slashy sequel to 'For the Love of Gohan'. Piccolo finds himself on another level of existance and struggles to sort out what has become of his 'life'. Piccolo/Gohan, and later a bit of Trunks/Juunana-gou. ^-~! Enjoy!
1. We were talking- about the space between...

This is the sequel to 'For the Love of Gohan,' you really should read that story first to fully understand this one. It's YAOI. SLASHY. GAY. Please read according to your tastes.  
  
  
******  
  
  
  
Waves, pulsating, never-ending fabric of flowing water that spread across the surface of the sea. Moonlight overhead, a glittering latern in the sky, illuminating the pale, damp sand underfoot as Piccolo followed the footsteps Gohan had left behind. A salty, soft breeze cut to the bone, though he ignored it in his intense quest.  
  
  
At last, Gohan could be seen. Piccolo nearly flew across the sands, barely touching the ground in his eagerness to hold the boy.  
  
  
"Gohan," he whispered, coming to rest behind the young man. "Gohan, what's wrong?"  
  
  
It wasn't hard to tell that the demi-saiya-jin was miserable. His hair, black as night was framing the silken web of his face like the night sky above wrapping the moon in it's lover's embrace. Crystal tears clung to the gossamer skin, the early-morning dew that appears and dissipates in the course of a sunrise.  
  
  
The boy didn't look up.  
  
  
Piccolo swallowed. "Gohan."  
  
  
Nothing.  
  
  
On his knees, now. Crouched beside the broken, trembling man, but completely ignored. "Gohan!!" Why, why? When he needed him the most, Piccolo was being ignored-....  
  
  
He stood again, not understanding, and pressed his hand to Gohan's roped shoulder.  
  
  
A moment of resistance, then he was falling forward.  
  
  
"The HELL!?"  
  
  
Scared, now. Frightening. Confusing. Piccolo lifted his hand and stared at it as if he'd never laid eyes on such a thing before. Long, black nails sparkling naturally in the moonlight winked back at him, the creases and scars of a thousand battles lining the skin of his palm like the words on a page, telling a story.  
  
  
Piccolo slowly pressed that hand to his heart, beneath the indigo gi he wore so proudly.  
  
  
Nothing.  
  
  
The understanding came then, like a blow to the jaw, making the namekusei-jin stagger with the implications. Slowly, fearfully he turned around and let his eyes fall upon the single set of footprints that were swiftly being devoured by the sea.  
  
  
Oh, God.  
  
  
Piccolo closed his eyes, trying to calm his heart- no, not that. His heart wasn't beating. He couldn't touch Gohan. His footprints were invisible, unseen by humanity.  
  
  
He was dead.  



	2. And the people- who hide themselves behi...

_It was that dream again, Piccolo's broad shoulders, his lips, his tongue…_

Gohan was moaning in his sleep, and Piccolo watched, eyes half lidded as he bent over the boy, whispering."Gohan.."

"….hai…"

A chill shivered through Piccolo's spine, hearing the boy answer like that.He could only imagine what this dream must be on the other end… Still, he tried vainly to run his fingers through Gohan's hair, and was rewarded with a soft sigh. 

_His fingers caressing, his soft breath against Gohan's neck, the sweet, sweet heaven that was locked in his arms… "Pikoro-san…"Gohan purred, he was warm and safe where he was, and nothing else would ever matter.Nothing could change this paradise."You'll never leave me, will you?"_

_ _

_"Never, oh, never."_

_ _

_"Promise…?"_

_ _

_"With my heart and soul, my love, my heart and soul."_

_With that, the namekusei-jin brushed a lock of hair out of Gohan's eyes and kissed his forehead."Sleep, kid."It was so tempting to lay back and surrender, and Gohan felt the dream world slipping-_

He opened his eyes.Piccolo sighed, realizing the moment of intimacy was over.Sitting back, he watched as Gohan rubbed his eyes and sat back, tiredly."I'm awake," the boy sighed, as if answering a question.

****

Chi-chi scrubbed tears from her eyes as she desperately tried to read her newspaper, searching for an escape that wouldn't come within the evenly spaced lines of the outside world.

It didn't work.The tears were making her mascara run.

Why did it have to be?Ten years ago she would never have seen herself in this position, trying to console her son on the death of his boyfriend, keeping herself strong though she hated the man, dealing with this horrible guilt inside of her.

What had she done to make him like this, to make Gohan turn to men for company?Surely somewhere along the line she had made a mistake that had warped him so… she couldn't possibly believe that this was the way Gohan was always meant to be.Surely not.Surely.

Folding the paper across her knees, Chi-chi shook her head.Now that Piccolo was dead, Gohan could straighten out.

Literally.

Ah, and Piccolo?She didn't particularly care that he was dead, not after what he had done to Gohan, but still it hurt to see her son like this.And why in the world had Piccolo wound up like __that__?That was the most unthinkable thing for him to do- live through so many battles and then surrender off without a fight…

She shook her head.Who cares?Her son was free.Yeah, he hadn't come out of his room since it happened, he wouldn't speak, he barely ate, and he was getting pale, gaunt and thin, but that was normal.He would recover.He would understand, and somewhere along the line, Chi-chi would introduce him to a forgiving girl who could fix everything, and Gohan would forget Piccolo had ever existed.

The doorbell rang.

****

A knock resounded on the metallic door, though Gohan didn't look up.Piccolo jumped, more nervous in death then he had ever been in life.Ironic, that.

Another thunk-thunk-thunk, then his mother's voice."Gohan, there's someone here to see you.A young lady."There was no hint of recognition in the sound, and Gohan wondered what girl would ever find an excuse to visit him.There had never been any girls.Never.

"She says you'll see her, she says she has to speak with you now," Chi-chi insisted, banging once more with impatience.Perhaps, Gohan considered, she sees this woman as a possible mate for her ever-so-confused firstborn…

No, that wasn't possible.He had told her.He had told all of them, and they had, in time, accepted the love he felt for Piccolo as genuine.The last time his mother had forced a female friend upon him had been over eight years ago, and that had been-

From the other side of the room, Piccolo watched Gohan's expression suddenly jump, from the tired, empty gaze of a dead man to a shocked, surprised look."Show her in," the man whispered, unsure of why he was agreeing to see this human.

Piccolo stared hard at the door, listened as Chi-chi retreated down the stairwell and then another set of footsteps neared, pausing outside the door as if the figure was steeling herself for some great task- then the door slid back and he took in her appearance.

Oh, no.Not her…

The woman had long, ebony tresses that flowed freely down her back, pooling at her shoulders and licking at her waist, a living, shimmering border around her face.That face, so familiar-

The eyes, wide, calm, brilliant blue, reflecting the bedroom with the infinite understanding and infinite sadness of one seeing their own pain reflected back at them.She didn't pity the huddled figure on the bed that was Gohan, instead she bowed, clumsily, her pale face bobbing like a lantern in the darkness.

Tight clothing as was the style, black, hip-hugging slacks and a low-cut red blouse, clinging to what Piccolo supposed were ample breasts and slim arms- though, he judged, by the look of those arms, she had to have been a fighter.

The effect on Gohan was visible.He looked like he had seen a ghost- of course, he hadn't, for Piccolo was still there, on the windowsill, watching the pair.

"Son Gohan," the girl whispered, after a short silence.

Gohan swallowed and shook his head, not believing that she was there.Surely not!But…..but…"Videl…?"

Piccolo's mind flashed back to the last time he had seen this woman, sprawled out, belly-up in the dirt, bleeding and battered.She had seemed pathetic then, but now, something about her seemed tempered, forged by whatever she had dealt with in the last decade.She was strong, he realized, for a human…

"May I sit?"

A nod- yes.

Videl moved to the bed, perching there instead of in the chair across the room, positioning herself a mere three feet from Gohan's rumpled form.She stared at him across that gulf, and he stared back- for all the world they looked like twins in sin, partners in some great evil that had suddenly fallen to pieces all around them.

And slowly, painfully slowly, Gohan breached that gap.He lifted one hand, reached out, brushing the fingertips through the hair that shone around his classmate's form.Twisting the lock about his fingers, he sighed softly, surprised.

"I haven't cut it," she whispered, "because you liked it short."

"Well…." Gohan swallowed, pulling his hand back though his eyes stared, mesmerized by the tresses."It's beautiful long, as well."

Something passed though her face, but it was gone in a moment.Piccolo recognized the look for what it was- something that, years ago, would have been anger or pain, but was now nothing more than a shadow of those emotions- the same look when a sailor steps 'just so' on an old sea-wound and flinches for a heartbeat, filled with the remembered pain of some long-ago storm.

She licked her lips to speak."He was a proud man, your Piccolo."

Gohan looked sulky, as if he wished to say 'How dare you speak of him, he who hated you so!' though no words passed his lips.

"Please, don't look at me so balefully, Gohan…" Videl nearly cried, seeing the expression on his face."Can you really dislike me so, can you hate me so much after ten years have gone by and I have done my best to forget?!"

He looked away.

"No, no, that's not why I'm here," Videl pressed her eyes closed, as if recalling to herself a promise for her own ears alone."I want to….oh, Gohan, I'm so sorry…"

That caught the saiya-jin off guard and he looked up, surprised."I…"

"No, please.I have worded and reworded this for years in my mind, give me peace to speak it in."She whispered, hopefully."Just that, only that."

Quickly Gohan nodded, lips pressed in a fine, thin line.Piccolo had to lean forward to hear her words, and after a moment, he stood and half leapt, half floated to the empty half of the bed- the half where he had always slept.

"I'm sorry, Gohan.Let me explain…. I spent the first few months after I battled your mentor…your lover…. Trying to justify why I had lost.Because he was stronger, surely you still loved me."She looked towards the place Piccolo had just vacated, her gaze piercing the glass and taking the moonlit yard in."That was before I really understood.You never did love me, did you?Not in the way I loved you…"

He licked his lips and watched her plead, thinking.Shock, yes.That first week of highschool, having her uncover his 'Saiyaman' scheme, watching her attach herself to his mother and brother, the way Gokou had so quickly guessed them a couple….Oh, she had been a friend, and he had thought it was love- but how could he know, with nothing to base it on?It had been nothing like what Piccolo had given him for so many years.He had dated her for almost a year, but only because he was expected to.A strong young man, popular, smart, dating the famous, beautiful star of the school's academic heaven.A perfect match, judged so on Valentine's day, but…

Look how it had ended.One kiss with Piccolo, and Videl was nothing.One kiss and Gohan had thought of nothing else but his mentor, and Videl had disappeared.

No, that was no romance.

"No," he shook his head, regretfully.

She sat back, almost relieved."Thank God.Gohan, just…. When I read that Piccolo was gone, I couldn't help myself, I had to come see you.It's because… Well, I did love you.I honesty did, and everything about you back in those days appealed to me.How could I have known you had greater love elsewhere?I don't even think you knew what you felt for him…for Piccolo.I saw what I wanted to see- a perfect boy, in love with me.I didn't ever notice how you were so content to walk alongside me, how the kisses were always initiated by me…and then, that look in your eye when you were near him, a look I tried to ignore but never, never quite succeeding…"

Gohan watched her, face more animated then Piccolo had seen it in days.

"I understand now.I'm wiser for loving you, stronger for being beaten by your soulmate… I don't begrudge you anything, and….if it's possible, Gohan….I would like….." she took a breath, "I'd like to ask you something.But-"

She trailed off, watching him reach out and stroke her hair again, looking like a lost child fondling a bit of shiny ribbon."I remember that day…" There was no need to say what day- they both remembered."And I remember how bravely you fought.I watched you pull yourself up, I called your name but you wouldn't back down.Monster, you called him, but I didn't know how to make you stop, how to tell you that yes, he was a monster, but he was so gentle to me, so kind…"

Videl found her breath lodged in her throat, stuck somewhere between her lips and her breast.Even Piccolo was moved- Gohan never spoke of that day, never… and now, to hear that sweet voice speaking again after days of silence…

"I wish I could do it over again, I would never have hurt you, I would have flung myself between you and told you, but I just couldn't, I felt frozen, shocked by what I was seeing…And look, I ruined you, and now I've ruined him…"

Piccolo blinked.Ruined?

Evidently Videl was surprised as well, because she raised her brows, and then asked in her gentlest, most motherly voice:"Gohan, how did Piccolo die?"

Piccolo leaned forward, listening keenly.He had been trying to remember that so desperately, and now his question would be answered…

Tense seconds, as Gohan tried to find the will to speak.Finally, after a small eternity, he managed to choke out a quick answer, as tears stained his cheeks once more. "I found him in the old valley," the words were clumsy, blurring into one another as he spoke."He was sitting by the stream where we used to camp….my old, old sword, the broken one he gave me when I was first pulled into his training…"

"Yes?"Videl prodded, when Gohan paused, pale with memories.

"His wrists were slashed, both of them, and the sword was still in his fingertips."


	3. Never glimpse the truth-then it's far to...

  
  
He shook his head. This was impossible! It wasn't real, it couldn't be!  
  
  
Could it?  
  
  
"How the hell…" Piccolo slumped back against the wall, forgetting for a moment that he couldn't lean on something so thin. Thunk! He stared up at the stars outside, dazed. "I don't understand. I would never do that. Never."  
  
  
Kill himself? "I can't remember doing that, but…but… Even when Trunks was trying to break Gohan and I apart two years ago I didn't consider suicide. That was never an option for me!" Piccolo closed his eyes and tried to dredge up some sort of tell-tale memory, but nothing came into his mind. He remembered leaving for a meditative excursion out into the hills, but no part of him recalled Gohan's sword. In fact, he had hidden that blade a few nights after Gohan had discovered him with it, placed it deep within a cavern where it would rest, hopefully unharmed.  
  
  
And he was the only one who knew where it was…. That meant that no matter what, Piccolo had retrieved the sword, even if he didn't remember doing it. "Is there some kind of memory lapse involved with dying?" Piccolo wondered outloud, watching a plane cross the heavens.  
  
  
He heard Gohan's voice in his mind again- 'The sword was still in his fingertips'….no, it couldn't be, could it? Piccolo closed his eyes and sighed softly, not at all understanding what had happened. He hated not understanding things with a passion.  
  
"What should I do?" Gohan was blaming himself for this death. Had it been his fault? Piccolo tried to remember- no, they hadn't fought! In fact, the two years since Trunks came between them had been better than any before- they were closer, more connected, Piccolo had been completely satisfied with his lot in life. Even if he couldn't remember his death, he knew there had been nothing between him and Gohan that would inspire him to do that…. And nobody else was worth dying for.  
  
  
"Why would I leave you, Gohan?"  
  
  
The stars were still twinkling overhead. The plane was gone. And someone, Piccolo noticed, was at the door.  
  
He stood, curiously, and walked around the side of the house. Standing in the doorway were two men talking in hushed voices, one of them had his hand raised as if poised to knock. Piccolo moved up next to them and watched them speak, only recognizing the first after hearing the voice.  
  
  
"Do you think it's too late to call on him?" The sound was familiar, and Piccolo instantly tensed up. The first man had lavender hair clipped very short around his ears, with only the long bangs around his eyes hinting at the former length. He was wearing long khakis and a pressed blue dress-shirt.  
  
  
"Trunks…" Piccolo whispered, not knowing what to think.  
  
  
"You worry about him all the time. Just knock."  
  
  
"I feel like I'm treading on someone else's turf…."  
  
  
"You did, Trunks, and you still are. You still love him," the other man muttered, annoyed. He slipped the sunglasses from his eyes and slid them into the pocket on his jacket in one neat gesture of disdain. "Just knock already."  
  
  
Piccolo turned and estimated the other man- he seemed nervous- constantly looking from left to right and staring at where Piccolo was standing as if he could hear something nobody else could. He had long black hair that was tied back in a tufty ebony braid, and his eyes were long and narrow, ice-blue in hue.  
  
  
Piccolo nearly fell over in shock as he recognized the second visitor. That was Jinzouningen Juunana-gou…  
  
  
Three knocks filled the night air and Chi-chi opened the door, surprised and then grateful for their visit. Piccolo drifted through the wall as the woman bowed to the guests and told them Gohan was in his room, and that they could go see him if they wanted, since she knew both of them. They thanked her and proceeded up the familiar stairway, Piccolo drifting just behind them the entire way.  
  
  
The namekusei-jin couldn't take his eyes off Trunks- he looked so different with that nearly-shaved head, he looked young and rebellious. The part of him that had always looked at home behind a desk had been taken over by Vegeta's angry traits. What was Trunks doing these days, anyway? Piccolo couldn't remember, or maybe he had never known. Memories were blurry, now.  
  
  
Juunana-gou sauntered through the hall behind Trunks, but every so often he would turn slightly and glance at something Piccolo couldn't see. What was wrong with him? Piccolo analyzed the actions but couldn't quite place what bothered him so much about them.  
  
  
Trunks rapped on Gohan's door, and the boy opened it a crack, staring at Trunks with wide-eyed astonishment. Many nights of crying had followed that fateful time so long ago, when Trunks had told Gohan he couldn't bear to see him again… Piccolo remembered holding Gohan in his arms while the man sobbed brokenly, aching for the best friend that had taken the friendship to be something more… Gohan had cared for Trunks, just not as deeply as Trunks had wanted, and he had never, ever blamed Trunks for anything that had occurred. The expression on his face now was one of a man who had seen a figure of his dreams step through his front door.  
  
  
Both were let in, though Gohan perched on the windowsill now instead of on the bed, clasping and unclasping his hands in his lap. Juunana-gou refused to sit anywhere, but Trunks allowed himself to lean against the wall. Neither of them looked particularly at home there in the darkened room of a dead fighter and his living lover.  
  
  
"Torunkusu," Gohan whispered softly, voice nearly cracking with the simple words. "You're here… I can hardly believe you're here…"  
  
  
Trunks looked away, studying the blobby screen saver on the computer. "I heard about Piccolo…" he said by way of explanation, shifting his weight. What could he say? Were there any words that wouldn't sound forced and fake? He did regret Piccolo's death…not for Piccolo's sake, but for Gohan's.  
  
  
Juunana-gou smirked at the tactlessness, and smoothed his black leather jacket down with one pale hand, saying nothing. Whatever his emotions were, Piccolo couldn't read them- the face the jinzouningen wore was an impassive mask of detachment.  
  
  
Gohan shook his head, then bit his lip before speaking. He was torn between pain at the mention of his lover and the fascination that Trunks' new appearance had brought on. "I thought you must know by now..."  
  
The lavender haired demi-saiya-jin's voice was unemotional and efficient, he was obviously eager to leave, thought Gohan. Trunks was merely trying to get everything out without breaking down or tripping over his own words, realized Piccolo. The love was still there, shoved down and away, but still remaining. "I'm sorry, Gohan. I came to give my respects and tell you that…if you need help with anything, money or material, let me know…"  
  
  
"Th…thank you, Trunks… please don't go….please…"  
  
  
Trunks had been moving towards the door skittishly, but he paused when Gohan spoke. The black haired man had lifted a hand, and his eyes were pleading- don't leave him alone, Piccolo growled internally. Gohan needed friends now, even if those friends were Trunks and this inhuman machine… "Tell me what you've been doing, why do you look so different? Why is Juunana-gou here?"  
  
  
Trunks shifted his weight from boot to boot and shifted his gaze to the picture of a mountainside hanging on the wall near the windowseat. "I….not much….I gave up Capsule Corperation for a while and I've started doing inventions and free-work like mom used to do when she was a teen." He didn't tell Gohan about his little break down or the way he had nearly killed so many people when he had finally snapped…Gohan didn't need to know that. Gohan didn't deserve to know that.  
  
  
Juunana-gou spoke then, his voice calm and as young as it had always been. He must have sensed Trunks' hesitation, and he covered up for the slip with ease. "I'm an experiment. You remember that jinzouningen cannot sense ki, I'm sure?" When Gohan nodded, he continued. "Trunks is working on sensors for that-" tilting his head, Juunana-gou looked straight at Piccolo again, though he didn't really see him. "But it seems to be malfunctioning again."  
  
  
"I've installed three sets in him, but none are working properly," Trunks mumbled, feeling guilty for talking so impersonally about his work instead of about Gohan's problem. He missed the older man terribly, but letting that show now would merely add salt into the old wounds. "Eventually we'll work it into some sort of person-locator, I hope to make a radar so sensitive that you can enter a certain person's energy and they'll be located anywhere on the globe."  
  
  
Gohan nodded, but he was looking out the window again, as if his mind was somewhere else all together. Perhaps it was, mused Piccolo- the past had been preferable to the present in many ways. "That sounds very worthwhile, Trunks-kun."  
  
  
"And you…Gohan….." Trunks murmured, staring at the man with unabated adoration in his eyes.  
  
  
"You are teaching, I believe?" Juunana-gou asked softly, his voice coiling and uncoiling like a snake. "Are you still at Orange Star?"  
  
  
"Yes," Gohan said quickly, "but I'm quitting."  
  
  
"Why?"  
  
  
"I'm going to sell the house and move somewhere…I don't know where…somewhere other than here. I don't need so much room, and I'm not much of a people person anymore… you have to love people to teach….I don't….I mean, I can't…"  
  
  
Piccolo blinked. He hadn't realized Gohan was serious about leaving…  
  
  
"Oh Gohan, think it over first!" Trunks nearly cried out, passion in his voice. "Don't make a rash decision because of this…" he trailed away. "I mean, if you like teaching, Piccolo would want you to teach, not to mourn him forever and ruin your life…"  
  
  
Gohan froze up, staring at Trunks coolly. He swallowed back the stinging retort that was poised on his lips and shook his head, eyes dull. After all, Trunk didn't understand, would never understand, because nobody could understand the pain he felt. "Maybe."  
  
  
They both shifted their weight before Trunks murmured an empty excuse into the thick air of the room. "It's getting late…"  
  
"It is."  
  
"We should go…"  
  
  
Gohan sighed and nodded, looking strained in the low light. "Yes, fine. If you really want to."  
  
  
Trunks edged towards the door and licked his lips. It was nice talking to you, Gohan. It really was. I've…." No, don't say THAT! Quickly Trunks groped about for another few words. "I've really missed seeing you."  
  
The black-haired saiya-jin boy looked suddenly a bit more interested. "You have? I've missed you. I liked talking to you."  
  
  
"Yes…"  
  
"Please…." Gohan's eyes were hidden beneath his bangs, but his hands were trembling. He had lost his best friend years before and now his closest soul mate, a mere week ago. He was so lonely, so lonely…"Please come back and see me, Torunkusu-kun…?"  
  
  
Juunana-gou slipped out of the room and Trunks nodded quickly. The two years he had spent apart from Gohan hadn't been able to kill the love he felt. Now, after all this time, could he have Gohan to be his own? No…so soon after Piccolo's death, no. He swallowed before answering, unsure of his voice. "I will…I promise, Gohan."  
  



	4. We were talking- about the love we all c...

  
  
The sun was rising. Piccolo watched as it came, bathing first the rooftops where pidgeons and sparrows woke, then sliding down to top-floor apartments where sleepy cubicle workers rose and rubbed their eyes, preparing for another day in the heart of a bustling city.  
  
  
Yes, the sun was beautiful, sparkling off dusty windows and slowly yet surely entering the Capsule Corperation compound. However, Piccolo wasn't staring at the liquid gold that was dousing the city, he was watching two figures, speaking in hushed voices within a small building. He could hear them perfectly well- Juunana-gou and Trunks had been up all night in that little room, Trunks getting drunker and drunker, and Juunana-gou getting jumpier and jumpier.  
  
  
Now, as the sun filtered into the room, Trunks rubbed his eyes and yawned, his head ringing.  
  
  
Juunana-gou was sitting across him, nursing a full glass of wine. He delicately ran a fingernail around the rim of the crystal glass and shook his head. "I don't understand, Trunks."  
  
  
Piccolo looked down as the light struck him- he was shadowless, and the thought chilled him. Quickly he moved through the wall and into the still-dim room that stank of liquor and cigarettes.  
  
  
"There's nothing to understand, Juu-kun..." Trunks' voice was bleary and tired, his eyes bloodshot. He was laying his head on his arms and hiccuping every so often.  
  
  
"There's enough. Why do you care so much?" There was irritation in the black haired boy's tone as he watched Trunks take another pull at the wine bottle on the table, a bit of the red liquid slipping down the man's lips and chin. "He's just a boy. He's nothing that can't be replaced."  
  
  
Trunks looked as though he was torn between crying and screaming, and Piccolo was struck once again with the realization that Trunks had truly loved Gohan...it hadn't been a joke. He had cared deeply for the demi-saiya-jin, but Gohan had eyes only for Piccolo.  
  
  
Thank God.  
  
  
Trunks evidently chose crying, because he buried his face in his hands again and his shoulders were trembling as he spoke. "No, you don't understand. You can't."  
  
  
As Piccolo watched, he self conciously looked down at his hands, not wanting to see Trunks reduced to a drunken, sniveling mass. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of his wrists, and nearly cried out in surprise.  
  
  
Tracing across his flesh were long, jagged scars. Bloodless despite how fresh they looked, Piccolo could almost feel the blade in his wrists as he stared at the lines, suddenly unable to breath.  
  
  
"Oh my god..."  
  
  
Juunana-gou looked up and narrowed his eyes slightly, then turned to Trunks and spoke in a buisnesslike tone. "The scouter is malfuntioning."  
  
  
Piccolo was wrapped up in his wrists. As he watched, the slashes seemed to grow and expand, widening and becoming more deadly by the second. Only...they didn't hurt, or ache, or bleed! What the hell was going on?! He looked desperately up at the two living beings, searching to see if the same thing had happened to them- no, of course not. He was the only ghost here, maybe on the whole planet-  
  
  
Trunks had stopped crying, but he was still trembling like a child. Juunana-gou's face registered a sort of tender regret that all but shocked Piccolo back into sanity. What was that? For a moment he forgot about the racing scars on his wrists and watched as Juunana-gou clumsily (for a jinzouningen, anyway) stood up and moved to Trunks' side.  
  
  
Looking as if he wanted to apologize, Juunana-gou looked up, straight at Piccolo. For a moment the namekusei-jin felt as if he had been seen, but when Juunana-gou blinked and turned back to Trunks, Piccolo felt his heart falling. Of course not, that was impossible...  
  
  
One of the pale, inhuman hands rested itself on Trunks' shoulder as the jinzouningen considered his options. It would be best to just apologize and forget about this, since he had the most peculiar feeling he was being watched. Still, Trunks looked helpless and agonized and scared, and it was all Juunana could do to keep himself from pulling the taller man against him and kissing his tears away...  
  
  
Piccolo sensed the love emanating from the android suddenly, and his jaw dropped. A creature like that could love another? After a few more moments of staring, he returned his attention to his arms and discovered that the scars were gone. "What was that all about?" he wondered outloud.  
  
  
Juunana-gou jumped as if someone had dropped a brick on his foot, and spun around, regarding ever corner of the room with suspicion. Piccolo, however, was too busy looking for scars to notice. Shakily, the jinzouningen licked his lips and spoke with a reasonably quaky voice. "Trunks, I didn't mean that."  
  
  
No response.  
  
  
"I know you loved him," Juunana-gou sighed, sounding as if he had resigned himself to that fact. "I just don't understand love in general, that's all."  
  
  
"Neither did Piccolo," Trunks whispered. "He never knew what love was. He never loved my Gohan."  
  
  
Piccolo bristled at that, clenching one fist at his side.  
  
  
"And look where it got him," Juunana-gou scowled. "He killed himself."  
  
  
Now Piccolo was slightly more interested at this turn in the conversation.  
  
  
"He was stupid," Trunks mumered, eyes closed. "He should have let me have Gohan instead of keeping him and then losing himself," the tone was bitter. "He had everything I ever wanted and it still wasn't good enough for the stupid bastard."  
  
  
Piccolo scowled. Somehow he was sure that wasn't what had happened, he had always appreciated Gohan. Then why had he gone and killed himself? It didn't make sense! He couldn't remember killing himself, let alone having any reason to kill himself. Still, he was a warrior, and there were only a handful of people on the planet that would stand a chance at killing him- out of them, there was only Trunks who would do it, and Piccolo felt very sure that he couldn't have died at the lavender haired boy's hand, since Trunks wouldn't want to (however inadvertantly) hurt Gohan.  
  
  
Which meant he had to have killed himself.  
  
  
Groaning in frustration, Piccolo watched in annoyance as Juunana-gou hovered near Trunks, always a few steps further than the boy obviously wanted to be. Piccolo smirked- maybe he should try to help the jinzouningen? It would be nice to not worry about Trunks stealing his lover- but then, what could a simple ghost do to influence the living?  
  
  
It was with more questions than answers that Piccolo abandonded Capsule Corperation and returned home.  
  
  
  
**  
  
  
  
Videl was there again when he arrived, bringing tea up to Gohan's room. Piccolo stepped through the wall and took up his usual position, watching as Gohan blushed and handed the woman a thin stack of paper.  
  
  
"What's...?"  
  
  
"It's a story," Gohan murmered, embarrassed. "Kinda. And an apology too. And a lot of things." Piccolo missed hearing Gohan's well spoken words, since he had died Gohan had lost the air of a teacher and now acted like a surly teenager around guests.  
  
  
Videl tucked herself up onto the bed and scan through the pages, Piccolo reading over her shoulder. 


	5. To try our best to hold it there-with ou...

Videl licked her lips and read the thick stack of papers before her.  
  
****  
  
It was that dream, the sweet, common one: the sky, the plain, and Piccolo. For some reason the imaginary world of night always returned to this… The stars, like a billion shimmering diamonds were arranged just so in the sky, and the moonlight shimmered off Piccolo's sweat-tinged back. An impossible dream it was, the way the wind rustled by so soundlessly, the way Piccolo advanced, like a predator stalking a victim.  
  
He was that victim.  
  
Step back, a puzzled look. "Pikoro-san, daijobu ka…? Why are you frowning so?"  
  
"Human, so human," Piccolo murmured, as he reached out with one finger, curling a lock of ebony air about the extended digit. "You're so, so very human…"   
  
The finger that moved down possessively, tracing Gohan's cheekbone and then down his throat, pausing at the bulge of Adam's apple where the flutter of life stirred. "My little human…"  
  
Gohan felt the frown disappear as his lips met Piccolo's and the world melted away.  
  
  
****  
  
He woke up panting with disbelief, but the world was normal. His little sibling, Goten, was asleep next to him, sprawled out on top of the tangled covers, snoring softly. Trunks, too, was there asleep, his legs crossing Goten's sideways- he always rolled, Gohan noted with dry humor. Yes, the world was fine. But this dream? It was frightening, disgusting- but no, not really disgusting. More like…enjoyable, but slightly… disturbing, yes, that was the world. It was a disturbing dream because of how perfect it was.  
  
The thought of kissing Piccolo was nothing new to Gohan. He had been shoving it down within himself for the last year and a half, trying desperately to ignore the emotions that came to him so naturally. After all, what could possibly be more stupid than to fall in love with your best friend?  
  
Nothing he could think of.  
  
Still, Gohan reflected as he moved to the window and opened the shutters, Piccolo had been acting different lately. Could that be the cause of this dream? It was strange, how his thoughts swiftly returned to his mentor, how he visited more and more often, now, leaving his room so late at night and flying to Piccolo's valley… His mentor no longer lived there, but somehow, whenever Gohan needed a nighttime escape from his troubles, the namekusei-jin would appear, ready. Understanding. And the hungry look that filled his eyes sometimes, just sometimes, didn't seem sated after a long round of sparring.  
  
Gohan groaned softly and rested his head in his hands, elbows on the windowsill. 'Baka. That's the sort of thing you have to stop thinking- It's impossible, impossible. You're leading yourself on.'  
  
The moon was rising over the hills and woods of the Son holding, dripping into every crack and cranny of the landscape. Gohan watched it flood the windowsill and slip over into a dazzling pool at the foot of his futon, watched it for an hour as it made it's way unstoppably towards Trunks' face and paused there, highlighting the delicate, childish features that eerily echoed Vegeta's own anger-filled visage.  
  
Fine, fine. Gohan was fighting a loosing battle with himself as he always did on such nights- nothing would sate his mind except a journey to see Piccolo. And it would end, as it always did, with him feeling even more lonely than before, feeling more keenly the lack of thick arms wrapped around him.  
  
He stood and reached for his coat. After all, that was what he really wanted. He really wanted to be crushed and held and kissed by someone so massive, so graceful. He wanted to feel the contours of another broad expanse of muscle against his chest, wanted to see Piccolo's face gentle, wanted to show his mentor what pleasure could be… 'Mom'll kill me if I give in,' he sighed. Chi-chi would never understand. In fact, she seemed far too eager to have Gohan married in the first place- she constantly asked about his female friends…since the Tenkaichi Budoukai mere months ago, she had begun obsessing over Videl, a young woman Gohan had taught the use of ki to.  
  
Videl. A problem. Gohan paused as he buttoned up his coat, thinking. She was pretty, he supposed, and he was dating her. It was mainly a show for his mother to grant her at least some happiness, but it was impossible for Gohan to picture his life with her. 'I should stop leading her on, I should…'  
  
He wouldn't stop, though. He needed the security she provided too much for that.  
  
"Gohan-san?" A soft voice, curious and sleepy. Gohan looked down, surprised to see Trunks awake and sitting on the rumpled remains of his neatly made futon, wiping the sleep out of one eye with a balled fist. "Where are you going?"  
  
"Out to see Piccolo."  
  
A yawn. "Goten says you do that lots."  
  
"I do."  
  
"Why?"  
  
What was a safe answer? Whatever he said would be a lie… Unless, of course… "He's my best friend, just like Goten is yours. I enjoy his company."  
  
"Ne….why don't you stay with me? We c'n spar…" Trunks half-whispered, already shoving Goten's arms out of the way and snuggling back down into his futon.  
  
"No, no, you go to sleep now, Trunks. Oyasumi, oyasumi…"  
  
Gohan slipped out of the window without a sound.  
  
*****  
  
It had recently rained here, the grass was dewy and cool between Gohan's toes, as he stood silently on a bluff overlooking the valley wearing his pajamas and his long, fleece-lined jacked. The cool, damp wind blew wisps of cloud across the full moon as Gohan scanned the length of the cleft in the earth, searching for a tell-tale white cape.  
  
There. Gohan spotted it and was there in a moment, standing next to the crumpled fabric.  
  
What he saw was something he would never forget.  
  
Piccolo was there, yes, but he was…was….asleep? Gohan blinked. Not once could he ever remembered coming across Piccolo as vulnerable as he was now, his face drawn into a slight, disapproving frown as he slumbered beneath the stars. The cape was pillowing his head, his antennae limp and flipped up above his brows in a manner that made Gohan want to reach out and brush them aside just for the hell of it. Broad, burly shoulders beneath the indigo-black gi, a thrilling glimpse of tender pink underbelly just barely visible where his belt had come slightly undone…  
  
Gohan reached out towards the sulking lips and brushed a finger across their expanse, just one gentle caress that slipped out of his control.  
  
The next second, he was flat on his back in the damp grass, one thick green hand lodged around his throat, the other pinning his arms to the dirt. Choking in surprise, he flailed, staring terrified up into a pair of furious, onyx orbs.  
  
For mere seconds there was no recognition- the hands around his throat were cold and hard as stone, the face above him a cruel mask, but then-  
  
"Gohan?" A bewildered gaze filled Piccolo's expression and he loosened his grip of Gohan's throat, though he kept him flat to the ground. The saiya-jin boy wheezed a few breaths and grinned sheepishly up at his mentor.   
  
"Ohayo, Pikoro-san…"  
  
Piccolo frowned again, and now that he could breath, Gohan became acutely aware of their position-…  
  
'Stupid, stupid!' Gohan turned his head to the side and tried to concentrate on the cool grass tickling his cheek rather than the feel of Piccolo's knees framing his hips.  
  
"What are you doing here?" Disapproval, tough and relentless, filled his tone. This Gohan had expected, but still, he flinched.  
  
Managing a weak smile, Gohan muttered an answer. "I…I wanted to spar, and you were sleeping…and I just…" Just what? Just wanted to kiss you? Yes, that was it, I wanted to kiss you, Piccolo, but I didn't. I just touched your lips with a fingertip, who would have thought you would notice?  
  
"So human," Piccolo sighed in annoyance. That was his phrase back then, he always called Gohan a human under his breath, when he thought the boy couldn't hear him. Sometimes it was an insult, sometimes it almost seemed affectionate, but it always made Gohan think.  
  
"Don't say it like it's a bad thing, Pikoro-san," he smiled genuinely, praying that Piccolo would move quickly. He couldn't trust his own actions if they sat like this much longer.  
  
"Who says it isn't?"  
  
"I do…" deep breaths, Gohan, deep breaths! Don't think about his weight, his chest, his arms, his beautiful, beautiful eyes… "Humans are special, we can do so many things. I am human, I'm proud of it. I have a mind that can solve problems, a pride in myself, and a desire to protect this planet. Besides, humans have such a capacity for love…"  
  
He trailed away, as Piccolo raised a brow as Gohan wriggled his arms out from the lock Piccolo had put him in. Control was slipping, he had to move, had to get away… Piccolo sat back slightly, his body closer to Gohan's….oh, hell. There was no getting out of this, was there?  
  
"Love."  
  
"Yeah…after all, only a human would manage this…" Quickly, Gohan pressed a finger against Piccolo's lips once more, smirking at his mentor's disconcerted expression. For a moment, something had flickered in those obsidian orbs, something that gave Gohan an unexplainable certainty that his suddenly-necessary plan would be successful. "Or this…"  
  
He replaced the fingertip with his lips, brushing them lightly across the namkusei-jin's mouth. It was soft, innocent, sweet, and when he pulled away, Piccolo was staring at him with a hard, questioning gaze.  
  
"Gohan," Piccolo half-growled his knuckles white where they clenched the other man's skin, "Why did you do that?"  
  
"To show you what humanity is, stupid." Smile innocently, pray no rejection will come. Ignore the look on his face that harbors disgust, ignore the words-  
  
"And namekusei-jin are quite different, Gohan." Quite suddenly, lips on his once more, cool and soft and pure-tasting. Piccolo's mouth, Piccolo's lips that made Gohan go limp, his spine liquefying in a few swift seconds. He opened his mouth to speak, but it only provided an outlet for a much more intense sort of touch- tongue to tongue, his back in the grass, his arms around Piccolo's neck, rubbing the tender flesh at the nape of his neck. Oh, yes. Don't question it. This was what he had always wanted…  
  
Their hips brushed close, and Gohan moaned softly as Piccolo pulled away, standing up and pacing a few steps into the darkness in one fluid motion, as if the kiss had never occurred. "Pikoro…" Gohan shivered there in the grass despite his thick jacket. What had just happened? Was it truly what he thought, or had that been one sweet dream, like the first kiss this evening?  
  
He was going to speak. Gohan felt the words rise to the surface in his mentor before he actually saw the verdant lips move. "So very human." Who, Gohan, or did Piccolo mean himself? "I have waited for a very long time, Gohan."  
  
Gohan's mouth was suddenly very dry. Everything had changed, now, and it would never be the same.  
  
"Fortunately I am a patient person."  
  
Thank God.  
  



	6. With our love-we could save the world-if...

When Videl finished reading, she looked slightly sick, slightly hurt. Gohan had expected that- how else could she have reacted?  
  
  
Piccolo wanted to swear from his position above the windowseat. The story wasn't over, he knew, but Videl's papers had run out. She was gazing at Gohan nervously. "I...see." she whispered, the words strangely empty. Seconds dragged by as she tried to digest what she had read. After almost a minute, she stood, her legs and step unsteady, and made her way out the door.  
  
  
Gohan looked injured for a moment, as if he had been hoping for a different reaction. What did he want her to say, Piccolo wondered... There was no way she would take that story with a positive attitude unless she had plenty of time to think about it. Almost as if Gohan had reached the same conclusion, he turned to the computer and began typing again, applying himself to the task with enthusiasm. Piccolo turned and gazed out the window, watching as Videl left the house and leaned up against the wall next to the gate. She was crying into her palms as the wind brushed past her hair and clothes.  
  
  
The man inside simply typed and typed, oblivious to her agony.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Gohan sagged back in his chair and glanced at the glowing clock across the room. It was three AM, and he was exhausted. Without blinking, he saved his file and flung himself into the bed, not bothering to clean himself up. It didn't matter, did it? Nobody would see him if he could help it. Curling up and dying, yes…  
  
  
Tucking his knees under his chin, Gohan was soon adrift in a sea of dreams.  
  
  
Piccolo, however, contemplated the computer even as his student slipped away from conciousness. "Damn it, Gohan, you could have left the goddamn file open!" he sighed, staring at the blank screen. He wante to read whatever Gohan had been working on, wanted to know how the story would end, but the physical boundary between the worlds of the living and the dead had destroyed any chance at that.  
  
  
The screen flickered and went dark, while a large, fluid blob began bouncing about the computer. Piccolo groaned and slammed his hands down on the desk- a dull thunk followed, and Piccolo nearly fainted. How was that possible? He couldn't even feel walls or chairs… He must have imagined it.  
  
  
But no, the desk had been jolted, and the screen saver was gone!  
  
  
Experimentally, he ran a hand towards the desk, and it passed straight through the plastic-sheeted object. "What the hell? Maybe if I hit it harder…" He did that, slamming his shin as hard as he could into the desk- it passed through and Piccolo was thrown off balance, landing half inside the adjacent study/guest room.  
  
  
"Kuso..." Piccolo hated not understanding. All of his life he had known exactly what he was capable of achieving. He had made no misjudgments of his strength through the years, and always felt confident that he knew exactly where his limit lay. But now everything had been shaken, and Piccolo suddenly found himself wondering what exactly he was. That physical contact had been so short and sweet that he found himself longing for more, even if it was merely the feel of grass beneath his feet.  
  
  
Scowling, he pushed himself up off the plush carpet and stalked out of the house. Outdoors the moon would have been full and dazzling, had Piccolo felt like admiring it. No, at the moment he wanted an escape.  
  
  
He could still fly.  
  
  
It was different, though, he noticed this immediately. It wasn't so much his energy or ki that was propelling him, now it was more a matter of will and concentration- the change was strange, but at least he was moving. Up, up, higher than the rooftops, the trees, the city. Slowly he drifted on the wind, feeling whatever magic that held him together being tugged and tested by the gushing wind. Eventually he picked a direction and flew though the sky, aiming himself at a glittering strip of sand that was the beach.  
  
  
He arrived minutes later, letting himself drop into the sand and surf, prepared to test the full extent of his new abilities here and now. Experimentally he kicked at the sand- nothing, no trace of it splattered into the sky. Jumping, Piccolo found that the ground beneath his feet was still solid- how come he could go through sand, but not the earth below?  
  
  
No answer came as he moved to the water, stepping in without hesitation. For a moment a cool, damp feeling washed over him, but it slipped away after a brief second. Touching the water, Piccolo noticed that while he could feel the pressure of the water and the eerie sensation of it inside of him, he wasn't wet in the least.  
  
  
Somehow that made him sad. Turning, he noted that no shadow trailed after him, nor did his breath puff up before him.  
  
  
Breath? He shouldn't have to breath, now…  
  
  
It took a mere second for him to be completely underwater several hundreds of feet from the shore. Swimming was like flying- without a body or energy only his mental will could move him about in this murky real. He was holding his breath at the moment, or at least he thought he was- carefully Piccolo exhaled, but no bubbles slipped towards the surface. What in the world? He took another breath- nothing at all. Did that mean he wasn't really breathing, or that he could take in oxygen anywhere?  
  
  
He surfaced with more questions than answers, and moved back to the beach tiredly. That was another thing- no sleep now, no food, nothing but the ability to watch the living. How come he was like this, he had been dead before and this was completely different!  
  
  
There was an young man on the beach, glowing in the moonlight. He was tall and auburn haired, occupied by holding a long pole of driftwood and nudging at the clams that occasionally surfaced in the sand. Piccolo watched him longingly, acutely aware of the millions of tiny, indescribably small things that made life worth living. After all, that boy would never remember this night, would he? Never recall the smile that slipped across his own features as the clams spluttered in the night?  
  
  
And then, to Piccolo's surprise, the boy (he couldn't be more than twelve years old) looked straight at him and grinned slightly. "C'mon, are you going to introduce yourself or strand there all night?"  
  
  
Piccolo fell over into the sand.  
  
  
"Eh? Wha's wrong?" The voice held a bit of a foreign accent that Piccolo didn't recognize.  
  
  
"You can see me?"  
  
  
"Of course. I'm dead."  
  
  
Another fall. "What?!  
  
  
The boy giggled softly. "Come see, ne?"  
  
  
Piccolo did so, creeping forward with disbelief in his eyes. "What do you mean- you're dead, just like me?" Yes, it was true! What the namekusei-jin had taken to be shimmering moonlight was truly a slight shimmer, the faintly transparent skin of another dead mortal. "You are!"  
  
  
"Mmhmm. You aren't human, are you? What's your name? I'm Louis."  
  
  
Oh, that explained it- his accent was slightly French. "Daimaou Piccolo. Can… can you help me? You're…" Piccolo's eyes widened. "You're holding that stick, something physical! You have to show me… There's someone I have to speak too, someone important-"  
  
  
"Who you love?"  
  
  
"Yes, yes!"  
  
  
"And you want to speak, want to hold whoever it is- you really don't understand what you are, do you? You're newly dead, huh?"  
  
  
Piccolo nodded, already amazed. This kid knew so much for his age! "Yes, please-"  
  
  
"It's okay, I've seen lots of souls just like you. Everyone goes through it, yanno. There's a sort of…hm…adjustment period, you could say. You have to get used to the new parameters of your existence. It's not easy!"  
  
  
Piccolo watched the swinging stick as if it was a talisman that would guard him against the very gates of hell. "I know. I have lots of questions…. Why the hell are we here?! Do you know that?"  
  
  
"Sure do!" The boy's face was the very essence of amiability. "It's cuz your soul mate ain't dead yet."  
  
  
Piccolo's eyes widened. Was that it?! Gohan wasn't gone, so he was tied to the earth….incredible. "Everyone does this?"  
  
  
"Eh, naw, not everyone. Only people who have met their match, their other half. If you don't love them with all your heart, you don't hang around them when you're dead. Heck, the afterlife'd get pretty crowded were that the case!"  
  
  
Somehow, behind the cheerful visage, Piccolo decided the boy knew much more than anyone his age should. 


	7. Try to realize it's all within yourself

  
"Eh, naw, not everyone. Only people who have met their match, their other half. If you don't love them with all your heart, you don't hang around them when you're dead. Heck, the afterlife'd get pretty crowded were that the case!"  
  
  
Somehow, behind the cheerful visage and wide smilinh eyes, Piccolo decided the boy knew much more than anyone his age should. "You met your soul mate that early?"  
  
  
More giggles, the stick drew a smiling face in the sand, it's indented eyes grinning up at Piccolo. "Oh, I'm not really this young."  
  
  
"Eh?!"  
  
  
"I died…um……it should be fifty-three years, last fall."  
  
  
Gaping, Piccolo sweatdropped softly, trying to articulate his emotions of shock and surprise. "You were so young…"  
  
  
"Oh, you haven't even figured that out yet?"  
  
  
"What?"  
  
  
"Changing your form, of course. Heck, I was twenty eight when I died. I sure didn't look   
like this!"  
  
  
"No…"  
  
  
Before Piccolo's eyes the boy melted away, reforming in the shape of an elderly man who's merry eyes were framed by creases in a thousand places- the image of a human who had lived a perfect, happy life of well over sixty years. "This is what I would look like if I were alive. My wife is old, and when I'm around her I use this form, it just makes me feel closer to her….You know, to have grown old with her despite everything."  
  
  
"I…I see…."  
  
  
The old man raised a hand, the finger joints stiff with arthritis as he waved them back and forth. "All you are is a representation of how you see yourself. Most likely it's your body at the prime of your life, that's how most people like to be seen for eternity."  
  
  
Piccolo narrowed his eyes and looked down at himself. For a namekusei-jin, and a young one that, his aging was not particularly evident until much later in his life. After living for so long alone in the wilderness he didn't have a very good sense of what he looked like, but now he was curious. "How do I change?"  
  
  
The older man smiled innocently, looking quite a bit daft. Piccolo wondered for a moment if he really knew what was going on- but he would have a mind matching the one he had died with, and he had been young. "Just concentrate on yourself, on what you looked like, and then form a picture in your mind of what you wish to be. It's easy, really, once you've done it once."  
  
  
Ah, that was fine, but it wasn't what Piccolo really wanted to know. He filed the information away for a later analysis and popped another question. "How can I touch the mortal world like you do?"  
  
  
"That takes quite a bit more work, Piccolo-san," said Louis in an apologetic tone as he shook his head dimly. "And though I've spent a lifetime trying, I can't touch living beings…"  
  
  
Piccolo's face must have fallen, because Louis was immediately comforting him with smooth words. He must have explained this a million times before, Piccolo decided. "It's alright, really, you can at least communicate….Writing, that sort of thing!"  
  
  
The next second, Louis was a young boy again, about twenty eight with long hair that was pulled in a ponytail behind his head. If it hadn't been a light brown color, Piccolo would have thought he looked like Gohan.  
  
  
"Show me…"  
  
  
"Let's begin, then."  
  
  
~~  
  
  
The sun was rising behind them, and Piccolo had barely managed to alter himself. He had sucessfully paled his coloration to a peachy color (privately he noticed that he had managed   
the hue Gohan's cheeks always attained when he was blushing), but physical changes took much more concentration.  
  
  
"You have to sculpt it, Piccolo," Louis told him, the stick he held earlier now resting over one shoulder. "You're trying to force it. Use your imagination and picture the skin moving and where it would rearrange itself too.  
  
  
"Can I hurt myself doing this?" Piccolo frowned. Shifting around his internal organs to change his shape didn't sound like a smart idea.  
  
  
"Piccolo, you're dead." Louis was laughing, his light tenor floating across the beach. "You don't have anything to hurt. This is just your fixated image of 'you'...If you can see yourself looking different then you can make yourself look that way."  
  
  
After another attempt, Piccolo threw up his hands in disgust. "Why is this so easy for you!?"  
  
  
"When you've been dead as long as I have, it's easy to lose yourself...After being nothing for so long, you lose a sense of who you are, physically. It becomes much easier to change that once you lose the idea that your body looked just 'so'."  
  
  
Piccolo decided that made sense, and mentally reminded himself that, fighter though he might be, in this new world he was inexperianced and helpless. Louis was the only person who could help him, now... Tiredly, he raised his hand and eyed the palm. Slowly he imagined the skin pulling looser, and just as he thought it might be working-  
  
  
Piccolo let out a startled cry as lines began writhing across his wrist, thin, yet unclean slices. The blade that inflicted them must have been massive- they were deep and yet- "L-L-Louis...!" he said, voice cracking. The boy eyed him with wide eyes.  
  
  
"You did it like that, huh?"  
  
  
"WHAT!? What is this?! Please...this is...is... What did I-?"  
  
  
Louis averted his eyes and cleared his throat. "Every day you will be reminded of your death...to remind you why you're here, perhaps, I'm not sure. Anyway..."  
  
  
"This can't be how I died!" Piccolo cried as the wounds widened and pulled. Again it looked like he should be screaming in pain, but he felt nothing as the marks thickened. "I wouldn't kill myself! I wouldn't!" he turned to Louis, begging for the man to agree with him.  
  
  
"Piccolo, you did slit your wrists, or you wouldn't be here."  
  
  
"I didn't!"  
  
  
"Maybe you just can't remember," Louis choked out, disturbed by the lines that were dissappearing now, the web of dark purple receding back into Piccolo's flesh as if they had never been there. "Though often all a person CAN remember is their death. Why..."  
  
  
Piccolo took deep breaths, out of habit rather than a need for oxygen. He noticed that Louis, too, breathed rather than sat without the habitual motion. Now that the marks were gone, he began searching for an explanation. "That happened yesterday, too-"  
  
  
"Then you died at dawn," Louis said softly, as if he knew the pain Piccolo was experiance. "Count yourself lucky. I was killed in a war, so I get a few sword marks every afternoon. Some people who drown or were hit by a vehicle...It's not pretty. You really are lucky. But I wonder why you can't remember how you died?"  
  
  
~~  
  
  
When Piccolo finally returned home, it was already high noon, and the sunrise experiance was almost forgotton. He had elicted a promise from Louis that they would meet again on the beach the next night at midnight, when Gohan was sure to be asleep. Louis had told him that ghosts never slept, so Piccolo was facing endless hours of life, watching the world move without him.  
  
  
Gohan was awake and in his room, staring at the keyboard. Piccolo noticed that he was printing something, and hoped it was the next chapter of the story of their love. As he read the top of one page he noticed the number and a few words- yes, it was about them. He wondered if Gohan was going to show Videl this as well, and hoped not- he didn't want any girl (especially not one who had once loved his Gohan) reading about his relationships.  
  
  
Gohan left the room, and Piccolo eyed the stack of paper questioningly. How could he move them enough to read all of them? Licking his lips, he reached out, but his hands went through the paper. Well, Louis had said it would take a great deal of practice and effort- Gohan had left the paper neatly stacked on the windowseat, and Piccolo managed to move the top sheet from the next, the paper moving centimeters under his grasp.  
  
  
"Dammit, that's too slow," he swore, unable to stand it. Spinning around he eyed the empty room, then came across an idea. "The ceiling fan..."  
  
  
It would be easier to hit the 'on' switch on the fan that it would be to move every piece of paper. Piccolo took a deep breath and closed his eyes, focusing himself. How many times had he fought in a battle and used his body? How ironic that now all the power was drained from him, the power that had sustained him while he was living was unreachable in death.   
Vegeta, he smirked, would absolutely hate that. Bulma had better die first-  
  
  
Catching himself he schooled his mind back into a focal point and pushed, for a moment he seemed to slip through the wall, but then there was a soft 'click' and the fan was on.  
  
  
Papers scattered everywhere, some facing up, some down. Piccolo waited till all were on the floor before he clicked the fan off and began noting their numbers. Soon he had located the first five pages, though the rest were upside down. Nodding in satisfaction at his own handiwork, he began to scan the pages.   



	8. No-one else can make you change

((Author's note: Tomo-chan here! I just wanted to show off the image I did for this story. It's a 1024x768 desktop made of spliced doujinshi scans and the lyrics to the song 'Within you- Without you'. I feel so inspired...  
  
  
http://members.spree.com/entertainment/tomoro/wywydesk1.jpg  
  
  
Check it out...I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please leave a few words of response! I looove feedback. ^^;))  
  
  
  
  
Papers scattered everywhere, some facing up, some down. Piccolo waited till all were on the floor before he clicked the fan off and began noting their numbers. Soon he had located the first five pages, though the rest were upside down. Nodding in satisfaction at his own handiwork, he began to scan the pages.   
  
  
  
~~~  
  
  
  
Duck, spin, lash out and dodge, whirling through the skies in a well practiced dance of physical balence. Gohan slipped past his mentor's defences for the first time all morning and managed to dig his fist into the taller man's supple ribcage.  
  
  
  
Piccolo grunted, unwilling to show any weakness, and quickly pulled back for a moment to breath. Gohan, sensing an opportunity, moved closer and prepared another blow. He barely realized what was happening when a fist cracked against his skull, just above his right ear. Eyes stinging with wind and sudden pain, Gohan faltered and felt an immediate response from his opponant- a swift kick to the torso, a punch that was just too quick to block, and then-  
  
  
  
He was on the ground, spitting dirt and wiping the blood from his cracked lips as Piccolo waited above, arms crossed.  
  
  
  
'Merciless as usual,' Gohan sighed. He would be reprimanded for that little incident.  
  
  
  
"Your enemy will not broadcast his physical state," Piccolo scowled with disapproval. "Do not let your gaurd down even though he looks weak. When backed into a corner, opponents may double in danger or strength."  
  
  
  
Gohan knew that to be true, and he should have remembered that Piccolo enjoyed tricking him here and there. He himself had never fought harder than when his family and friends were near to death...  
  
  
  
He wiped the sweat out of his eyes and mustered enough energy to rise from the dust and assume a defensive posture. In moments he was a super saiya-jin, prepared to do battle once again. He felt, as he always did, the thrill of the transformation and the glory of his saiya-jin ancestors singing in his blood-  
  
  
  
Piccolo was on him in a moment, sensing the distraction. In moments Gohan had suffered a repition of the previous attack, and the double blows to his head and chest left him reeling, gasping for breath. Piccolo, however, didn't stop. He merely punctuated each strike with a lesson.  
  
  
  
"They will remember where you are weakest," a fist slamming into his right shoulder- "and will take advantage of previous injuries." Somehow Piccolo managed to box the younger man's ears, making them ring with a loud buzzing sound inside his mind. Gohan tried to sidestep and threw a hastily aimed punch- Piccolo promptly caught his hand and crushed it in a vice-like grip.  
  
  
  
Gohan's eyes flashed back to their normal black state as pain raced up his arm and he cried out- a plea- "Stop, Piccolo! It...it's just a sparring....round!"  
  
  
  
Piccolo promptly raised both hands over his head, clasped them into a fist, and drove them into Gohan's skull. The boy blacked out before he even hit the ground.  
  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Gohan woke from less than comfortable dreams to find that it was early morning, and he was stretched out across what felt- and smelt- like his mentor's cape. Head still ringing from the injuries he had recieved the day before (he assumed this, given the way the sun was rising in the east), he stared up at the sky above and tried to think coherently.  
  
  
  
From the sound of it, Piccolo was already slipping into his normal routine of stretches as katas, Gohan could hear the even breathing of one deep in concentration as well as the scuff of boots on dusty stone. Curious, he turned his head and noticed that something had been pressed into his hand-  
  
  
  
The blossoms were a faded white, blending into the cloth beneath him that Gohan had to blink several times before he could focus on the handfull of spring flowers. They were still damp, maintaining the dew of the early hours- and, Gohan realized, Piccolo had given them to him.  
  
  
  
Against his better judgement he tried to sit up, clutching the bouquet in his hands. Yes, he had been right, Piccolo was practicing already, laboring over his tense exercises. Gohan's tentative "Ohayo, Pikoro-san" was not acknowledged, so the boy stood, wobbled, and returned to the safety of the ground. When Piccolo did look up, he did not meet Gohan's eyes, and the half-saiya-jin boy felt like he had won a small victory over the man he loved.  
  
  
  
"Rest, kid. No rounds today."  
  
  
  
Gohan let a smile light across his face at the words and smiled. "Arigatou, koibito."  
  
  
  
Piccolo hated being called that, but at the moment he simply eyed Gohan, smirked, and returned to his exercises.  
  
  
  
~~  
  
  
  
Frowning, the namekusei-jin scrambled around to find another piece of paper that was face-up, but found nothing, and moments later a shout of annoyance caught his attention. Gohan was standing in the doorway, eyes teary, while his mother stood behind him. "Gohan, please! She's a nice girl-"  
  
  
  
"Mother! I don't want a nice girl! I don't want any girl!"  
  
  
  
"But Gohan-chan, please! You'll like her, it would be good for you to-"  
  
  
  
Gohan clenched his fist around the doorknob, the metal crunching inwards as he did so. "Kaasan, you don't understand... I. Don't. Like. Girls. I'm not looking for a replacement for Piccolo! I just want my old life back!"  
  
  
  
Chi-chi was angry, and crying too, Piccolo noticed. She looked horribly old as she stood there pleading with her son to conform, to be what she wanted him to be- "You can't have your old life back! And you don't need him! You need a wife, a proper life, you'll see how much better it could be-"  
  
  
  
"YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!!" Gohan screamed, rounding on her in fury. His eyes were shimmering green, and Chi-chi stepped back, terrified at her son's suddem burst of anger. "I LOVED HIM! You never could accept that! Get the hell out of my house until you understand ME!"  
  
  
  
"Gohan-"  
  
  
  
"GET OUT!" The glass on the pictureframes in the hallway shattered as his power rose, almost to a super saiya-jin level. "OUT!"  
  
  
  
  
Chi-chi fled her firstborn, slamming the door on her way out. Gohan stood in the doorway for a few moments longer, tears streaming down his face, before his power dissipated. "Memories, kaasan," he whispered, eyes hidden under his ebony bangs, "I can live in my memories..."  
  
  
  
Gohan wasn't even surprised when another voice spoke- a familier, cold one, harsh with anger and twanging metallicly. There was no ki to feel, but somehow Piccolo could tell Gohan had expected this visitor- indeed, when Jinzouningen Juunana-gou stepped around the corner with narrow eyes and a devious smile, Gohan didn't even look alarmed. "That's no life at all,   
Gohan." 


End file.
